Better Read Than Dead
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Mark favoured using his mind rather than a sword. But when his 'army' consisted of only a pair of knights and a Sacaean girl, the fact was that he needed a means of defending himself. Or at least, that was Lyndis's line of thinking.


**Better Read Than Dead**

It was hard to read by firelight. Even harder when the light had no walls to bounce off. And that was to say nothing of the chill.

Still, he persisted, reading Tolana's masterpiece, _Swords, Spears, and Shields: 800 Years of War_. Written in the year 821 (more than one person had pointed out that given the publication date, the title was incorrect), and just as relevant 159 years later. There were some that said that the entire title was a misnomer, as it relied on the assumption that Elibe had known nothing but war for over eight centuries. Others said it was wrong on the basis that mankind had warred amongst itself even before the end (let alone the start) of the Scouring, and the dawn of the new calendar. For Mark however, these were just semantics, created by people who could only hope to match Tolana's intellect. Even now, Tolana's theories on tactics and the very essence of war were just as relevant now as when the book had been written. So even though the hour was late and the sky dark, even though he strained his eyes in the dying embers of the campfire, he still turned the page. He still read, absorbing Tolana's words as surely as the grass absorbed the rain.

"You shouldn't be reading that you know."

He looked up, a scowl on his features that he couldn't hide. And maybe Lyndis knew it, because when next she spoke, her tone was more subdued.

"I mean, you shouldn't read in such poor light," she said. "You'll strain your eyes."

"My eyes are fine," Mark said. "You needn't worry about me."

"Perhaps not, but I still do," Lyndis said She came to the fire and sat down opposite him. "I worry about you, about me, and even those knights."

"Hmm?" Mark glanced outward – at Kent, who was keeping watch about twenty metres away, and Sain, who was snoring away. "Why? You don't think they're on the level?"

"Oh I think they are. It's what being 'on the level' might require of them." She glanced towards the south, to the mountains that separated Sacae from Bern, and Mark knew what she was thinking. Truth was, he'd been thinking about it a lot as well.

To try and stop thinking about it, he returned to Tolana's work. However, the words were harder to make out now. Maybe Lyndis's words had infected his mind, or maybe there was truth to them. Either way, he could barely make out the writing.

"Mark."

He grunted, still peering at the book.

"Mark," Lyndis repeated.

He turned the page, squinting to see if Tolana had written "their" or "there."

"Oh for goodness sake."

It actually took him a moment for his mind to process that Lyn had yanked the book out of his hands. So by the time he did realize the fact, she'd already closed the book and was reading its title out loud.

"_Swords, Spears, and Shields: Eight-hundred Years of War_," she said.

"Give it back Lyndis."

"Swords, spears, and shields," she repeated. "What about axes?"

Mark got to his feet. "I said give it back."

"I will, tomorrow," she said. "But if you're our self-appointed tactician, I'd rather you have eyes to see the threat in front of you."

"I'll show you a threat."

He knew he was talking like a petulant child, but his tongue was running faster than his mind, and his feet were running faster too. So he tried to yank the book from Lyndis. But what instead happened was that at a speed greater than he thought possible, he stepped to the side, grabbed his arm, and bent his body over. All while still clutching onto the book.

"This a threat?" Lyndis asked.

"Let go of me!"

"Don't be quiet, I'll break your arm," she said. "That's what you call a threat."

"I'll call you a-"

"Hey!"

Lyndis let go of Mark and he fell into the grass. But looking up, it wasn't her he looked towards, but rather a knight clad in red armour, walking towards them.

"Sir Kent," Lyndis said, bowing her head slightly.

"Lady Lyndis." He looked at Mark, then back to the Sacaean. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, fine," she said. "Little disagreement, but nothing that warrants your sword."

"Hmm." Kent looked down at Mark, who glowered at the knight, and got a glower in turn. "Well, that's all well. I would suggest you turn in for the evening my lady – the next few days will test us, even if we do avoid troubles at the border."

Lyndis nodded. "Of course."

Kent bowed his head slightly then went towards Sain.

"I'm fine, by the way," Mark called out. "Thanks for asking."

Kent said nothing. He was too busy waking up his fellow knight. Mark got to his feet, and decided to leave him to it, as Lyndis was already headed for her tent.

"Lyn," he said.

She kept walking.

"Lyn, my book."

She glanced back at him. "Tomorrow Mark. If you must read it, do it so your eyes are spared."

_And what, my arm as well? _He rubbed it and watched as Kent walked past him. Even in the darkness, he could see the look of contempt in the knight's eyes.

"Thanks for the help earlier," Mark murmured. "Really appreciate it."

"Appreciate your place Mark, you'll make life easier for all of us."

"Excuse me?" Kent kept walking, so Mark reached out and grabbed his arm. "Do you know who I am?"

Kent shrugged it off. "No."

"I am-"

"I know what you are though – a mercenary. Someone who sells his services to the highest bidder."

"And, what? That makes you better than me?"

"My loyalty is to Caelin Canton, of the Lycian Alliance. I know where I stand in the world." He nodded towards Lyndis's tent. "I know the Lady Lyndis considers you a friend, and I'm willing to believe that by the time we reach Caelin, your services will be required. But until then, mind your place."

Mark took a step towards him. "You arrogant son of a-"

Kent raised a dagger to Mark's neck. In the darkness, he could see a wry smile.

"Men who read books as much as you tend to think of spears and shields," Kent murmured. "They never think about daggers."

Mark remained rooted in place, ice and fire within his eyes. Even when Kent flipped the blade so that the hilt was pointed at Mark instead.

"Don't push me," Kent said. "And I won't push you."

He gave the tactician a bump on the head with the dagger's hilt before sheathing it and retiring to his own tent. Perhaps he knew that Mark followed him as he walked towards the horse skin shelter, perhaps not. And perhaps he didn't know that Sain was looking at the whole thing with a bemused look on his face, that evaporated as soon as Mark looked at him.

"I'll, er, take watch," the knight said.

"You do that," Mark grunted, before heading to his own tent. Minus one book, and plus one headache.

* * *

Dew was on the grass and mist was in the air when Mark emerged the following morning. But neither caught his eye as much as Lyndis herself, who was seated at a rekindled fire, a bowel of stew in one hand, and his book in the other. For awhile he stood there, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and interest. Or what he told himself was interest. Because seeing her there, in her Sacaean garb, her hair long and touching the grass, perfectly poised in the morning mist…he might even call her-

"Mark."

He blinked, shrugging off such dalliances. He instead turned his lips into a frown and said, "see you've still got my book."

"I do. And it's made for heavy reading." She chuckled. "Think it's fair I give it back to you – you'll make far more use out of it than I would."

"I would," he said, before mentally kicking himself for such bluntness. Seeing the look in Lyn's eyes, he sat down, and sought to clear the air of things other than mist. "You know, it's strange – I didn't think you could read."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean…" He tried to dig himself out of the hole he'd created. "I mean, the people of Sacae use oral history, correct? They don't have a written language."

Lyndis stared at him.

"I mean, that doesn't count you out from reading, but I figured that if you raised by plains-dwelling tribesmen who have more horses than books between them, then-"

Lyn handed Mark a second bowl of stew. "Eat up Mark, your tongue's running faster than your teeth."

Cheeks burning, he nevertheless began to consume the dish. Potatoes and rabbit. Simple, but filling. Though while one of his eyes was focused on breakfast, the other was focused on Lyn, still reading the book. _His _book.

"For what it's worth, you're technically correct – the people of Sacae have no written tradition," Lyn murmured. "Still, my mother brought some books with her when she eloped with my father, and she made a point to teach me." She looked back at Mark and closed the book with a thud. "You could say I had two teachers in my life," she said. "My mother, who taught me inside the house, and my father, who taught me the ways of the world."

She hid it well, Mark reflected. When they'd met weeks ago, when he'd brought up the subject of her parents, she'd let her grief flow like a river, and sound like a gale. Now, it was like a rock, visibly scratched. Maybe it was the news that her grandfather wished to see her, or maybe time had hardened her, as it had him.

She handed the book back. "Here. It's yours."

"You can read it if you want."

"Maybe someday, but for now, it's yours," Lyndis said. "Besides, I'm sure there'll be plenty to read inside Castle Caelin."

"Possibly." Mark glanced westward, towards Etruria. Towards that beacon of civilization and learning, where books like _Spears, Swords, and Shields_, were among thousands, of matters ranging from war to philosophy, and everything in-between. Lycia had books, he reflected, but in many ways, Lycia was like Sacae – replace tribes with cantons, replace chieftains with marquesses, replace outriders with knights, and at the end of the day, perhaps the two countries were more alike than either cared to admit.

"You know," Lyn said, as she continued to eat. "There is something that's on my mind."

"Oh?" Mark was barely listening.

"Yes. I mean, you're a tactician by trade, and I'm sure if you were leading an army that would count for something, but…"

"But?"

She lowered her bowl. "If bandits came here right here, right now, would you be able to defend yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't even have a sword."

"No. I don't. I've got a wild girl and two knights to fight for me."

"And if that isn't enough?" She put the bowl on the ground and got to her feet. "Come on, you must have some training."

Mark looked up at her, as she straightened her shirt. Sheathed at her right was the Mani Katti. Sheathed at her left was the sword she'd originally wielded – less ornate, but no less functional. He watched as she unfastened the latter, and tossed it to Mark.

"Lyn?"

"Come on, show me," she said. "Swords were touched on in that book, you must have picked up some techniques."

"Lyn, I-"

She unfastened the Mani Katti. "Don't worry, we'll keep them sheathed. Kent's yet to awake, and Sain's yet to return from patrol, so if you fall down into the dirt, you have nothing to worry about."

"I actually have plenty to worry about and-"

Lyn got in the first blow, and he fell down into the grass.

"And you're dead," she said. "Care to try again?"

* * *

Over the course of the next hour, Sain had returned from the fields, and Kent had awoken. Both of the knights helped themselves to the stew, and sat down to enjoy the spectacle. Because a spectacle was indeed what it was, as Lyn 'killed' Mark over and over with the tip of her blade.

"You're dead," she said, as she put her sword to his neck.

"You're dead," she said, as she prodded his stomach.

"You're dead," she said, as she tripped him up and put her sword down back to his neck.

It was humiliating. Even as Kent and Sain gave half-hearted advice on his stance, even as Lyn slowed down, it was no good. A full hour of sore muscles and eviscerated pride, before once again, he was tripped up after an attempted thrust, falling down into the grass.

"And you're dead," Lyn said, putting her sword to his back.

He wasn't really dead. But his pride was.

"Well," Kent said, getting to his feet. "This has been most…informative. But I think we should head out. The day is young, but Lord Hausen isn't."

Still in the grass, Mark watched as Sain got to his feet as well. He looked at him with pity, while Kent looked at him with amusement. He wasn't sure which hurt more. But Lyn, standing over him, watching him as he got to his feet…that was humiliating.

"Mark?"

He ignored her. He just head for his tent.

"Too far?" she asked.

He looked back at her.

"Um, Mark? You've got…" She put a finger to her right cheek. He just stared at her.

"Oh, let me." She screwed up part of her tunic over her hand, and wiped the mud off his face.

"You're getting dirty," he murmured.

She ignored him, and stepped back. "There. All better."

Mark grunted, and handed her back the sword. "Here. It's yours."

"No, you should have it," Lyn said. "I have the Mani Katti, I don't need a second blade."

"Lyn, just take the damn sword," he said, tossing it to her. "I've got a dagger in my satchel; I can use that if the worse comes to worse."

He turned round and headed back to his tent. But without looking around, he knew that Lyn was following him. Still, he pretended not to notice as he stuffed _Swords, Spears, and Shields _into his satchel, along with the other books that had spilled out of it.

"Do a lot of reading?" Lyn asked softly.

"Better read than dead."

"I'm sorry?"

He looked back at her. "Better read than dead. It's an Etrurian saying."

"I don't see what the colour-"

"Read!" he yelled. "R-E-A-D. What, you can read, but you can't spell?!"

He could see the hurt in Lyn's eyes, but while it would have been a lie to say he didn't care, his tongue was again outpacing him. "Etruria," he murmured, before returning his gaze to his satchel. "Oh, to have been born in Etruria. Not in Bern, where the sword rules rather than the quill. No. Had to be born there, didn't I?" He tapped his head. "There's demand for this, you know. Light knows the land's always needed warriors, but those who lead armies need to be able to fight as well." He snorted. "That's the Bernese way of thinking."

"So…we're headed to your home," Lyn murmured.

"Home," Mark grunted. "I'm a mercenary Lyn – men like me don't have homes. Homes only exist for us as long as the supply of gold does." He shrugged. "Well, copper and silver as well, but the gold is…"

He trailed off, as he felt Lyn put a hand on his shoulder. He looked back at her, and saw that the hurt in her eyes had been replaced by sympathy.

"I know what it's like to be caught between two worlds," she said. "Chances are, I'm going to know it a lot more once we enter Lycia."

Mark, after a moment, after considering what to say, and what not to say, patted her hands. "Once we reach Lycia," he said. "Then…then we'll see."

Lyndis nodded. "Then we'll see."


End file.
